Just One Last Goodbye
by haveyouseenmyhaggis
Summary: They both knew she would die before her time the way she was living but sometimes even the worst mothers need one last chance to say goodbye. Sometimes even the most neglected son needs to hear her one last goodbye. Could be a sequel to "Daddy Was Wrong".


**Title: Just One Last Goodbye**

**Summary: They both knew she would die before her time the way she was living but sometimes even the worst mothers need one last chance to say goodbye. Sometimes even the most neglected son needs to hear her one last goodbye. **

**Author's Note: This could be taken as a sequel to _Daddy Was Wrong_** **but it does make sense on it's own if you want to read it anyway. Please be warned this might be a bit hard to read as it deals with a heavy theme of death and I nearly cried when I wrote this.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Torchwood._**

* * *

Maria Harper

Even to this day I still don't know if it was right to send Owen away when he was sixteen. I certainly managed to keep him from my dangerous lifestyle. I managed to keep him safe from me. It's hard to send your first and only child away. Yes it was for a good reason but that doesn't mean I'm a good parent.

A good parent wouldn't have needed to send him away to live with an aunt in Cardiff. A good parent wouldn't need to protect her son from her drug habit. A good parent would have been there for her child and been able to see when he was hurting. Maybe if I'd listened to him when he said I was going to hurt myself I wouldn't be in this mess.

He told me alcohol would make me sick if I drank too much of it. Sure I knew this already but it was sad that my little boy had to point it out to me. It was sad that my child saw me killing myself with alcohol. I wanted to protect him from all my bad habits but it's hard when you yourself are too dependant on a toxin.

When my husband died I thought my world was ending and I let that feeling consume me. I let grief rule my life and it stopped me seeing clearly. When I met Rodger I thought my life would finally get better. At the time I'd thought it had until he showed his true colours. He was abusive and he was a rapist. He had been hurting my little boy when I wasn't looking. Of course, I never looked so I never saw. I never saw the pain my son was hiding from me. I never saw anything.

So, here I am now. I'm dying. I guess if you know me you'd have expected me to have walked into an early grave long, long ago. Between drugs and alcohol I was a hopeless case. I'd tried to come clean but the need to be free of myself always became too great.

I'm quite calm about facing death. I've wanted it for a long time. I've struggled to live for so long and I've just made a mess of things. I've hurt my son beyond belief even though he tried so hard to be there for me. He always tried to be the one to pick me up of the ground like his Daddy would have done. Hell, there was a lot of Vincent Harper in his son – our son. It was just something about his eyes, his hair, and even the way he spoke that reminded me so much of my deceased husband.

Only hours ago I took a lethal overdose of drugs and alcohol and now I'm feeling sleepy. I wonder what Owen's doing now. Maybe he made a successful life for himself. I hope he did. I couldn't bear it if he got hurt like I did. I'd hate it even more if he was unable to form a good life because of a horrendous past of abuse and neglect. It would be my fault… All my fault.

I'd sometimes tried to find Owen. I'd looked his name up in the phone book and sat for hours debating whether or not to call. I never did. Maybe I should now? His number is jotted down on a piece of paper by the phone – a constant reminder of the little boy I should have raised better.

I reach for the phone with shaking hands. It's becoming very hard to keep my eyes open and I want to sleep. Somehow though, I think this is something I have to do before I go. I have to hear my son's voice. He'll be twenty-six now. It's ten years today since I threw him out of the door and sat crying for ages over my sins.

I clutch the piece of paper with my scrappy scribble on it and dial the number slowly and deliberately. The buttons are blurring but I some how manage to dial the right number. I count the rings it takes for him answer. One. Two. Three. Four. Five and-

"Hello?" he says sleepily. I'd forgotten how early it was in the morning but I don't really feel guilty for waking him up. I needed to hear his voice one last time.

"Son…" I whisper into the receiver. He says something else but I don't hear. All I'm aware of is his voice laced with sleep. I note the way he articulates his words exactly the same as my beloved Vincent did. I'll see Vincent soon. Very soon. I just needed to say bye bye to my little boy. To my Owen. Just one last goodbye. Just one.

* * *

Owen Harper

I stare at the phone for a while and I know exactly what has happened. I don't need the police phone call that will come in a few hours to know what just happened. I know exactly who was on the phone as soon as I saw that number on the screen. I'd know that number anywhere – my Mum's house phone. It had been my house once upon a time.

When I was a kid I used to live with her. Trust my mother to die on my birthday. Trust her to call me at three in the morning on my twenty-sixth birthday just for one last message.

She's dead. For some reason that's just hard to take in. I've always known she would die prematurely but now it had happened I feel a bit strange. She had always had a problem with alcohol and drugs and now it seemed to have killed her. Somehow I think that's what she wanted though. She'd been ready to die for a long time but nature wasn't ready to take her back I guess.

My mother. Dead. She should have lived a lot longer. My Daddy should still be alive and so should she. Dad died in a factory accident when I was very young and then my life had spiralled out of control from there. I'd fought so hard to keep things together but nothing seemed to work.

Mum just went back to all the old bad habits she depended so heavily on. She couldn't break away from her addictions and I couldn't help her. I just had to watch as she steadily killed herself. I wanted to help – who doesn't want to help their own relatives when they need it?

When I was sixteen she decided I'd seen enough. She threw me out the door ten years ago today and that's why I'm here now. That's why I'm sitting here in my Cardiff apartment holding the phone as through it's a breakable object. I lay it down on my bedside table and pull my knees up to my chest.

She'd just phoned to tell me she was leaving me properly now. She was going back to my Dad – where she'd always longed to be. She needed to be with him and in a way I was sort of glad that she was dead. Not because I hated her but because it meant she wasn't suffering any more.

So this is me now – an orphan. I'm just glad she phoned to say bye to me before I heard it from the police; she _is _my Mum after all and I love her.


End file.
